


as stars lead me home to you

by wordstruck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (no worries none of them die), 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Background Character Death, Dragon King Oikawa, FHQ, Falling In Love, Fantasy AU, Final Haikyuu Quest, IwaOi Day, Iwaoi Day 2018, Knight Iwaizumi, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 19:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck
Summary: They stand there a moment longer, quiet, as Oikawa smoothes out the kerchief so the royal insignia is visible for everyone to see. His fingers move carefully, linger just a little too much. When they both look up, there’s something soft at the edges of Oikawa’s expression.Iwaizumi hadn’t let himself hope that the crown prince would remember the blacksmith’s son who’d shown him around the Festival of Dragons all those summers ago; had simply thought that seeing Oikawa again at the tournament and winning his attention would be enough. But Oikawa does remember, Oikawa recognizes him, and more than a favor on his sleeve or the acknowledgement of the king, it is all the motivation Iwaizumi needs.He smiles, bows politely. Flicks his gaze up to the crown prince.“It’s good to see you again, Tooru,” he says, just loud enough for Oikawa to hear, and turns away before he can see Oikawa’s answering expression.Or, five+one times Iwaizumi calls Oikawa asTooru.





	as stars lead me home to you

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a gift for [Mika](https://mikkapi.tumblr.com), and honestly I meant to give it much, much earlier (like, February) but well, life. It's based on **[this series of art pieces](https://mikkapi.tumblr.com/post/155604162609/scenes-and-lighting-studies-from-a-haikyuu-fantasy)** for her Haikyuu!! fantasy AU, because honestly I adore Mika's Haikyuu art and you all should go love it too. Thanks for being such a good sport in the collab, Mika XD I hope you like this (when you get around to reading it HAHAHA).
> 
> I honestly didn't think I'd finish this in time for IwaOi day, but somehow I wrote 5k words in one afternoon, so hey I made it. That also means this is largely un-beta'd, so you'll have to forgive any mistakes (though I'll try to fix everything I catch). Also, I completely made up the word _tricuspis_ by smashing together "tri" (for three) and "cuspis" (meaning a "pointed projection"), bc I didn't know how else to describe the ornament that Oikawa wears.
> 
> The City of Seijoh, as I imagine it, is largely inspired by [Divinity's Reach](https://wiki.guildwars2.com/wiki/Divinity%27s_Reach) from Guild Wars 2.

* * *

 

 

 

**1.**

The Festival of Dragons, for Iwaizumi, means a whole week of festivities and entertainment. He and his friends are granted a reprieve from their tutors and from helping out their parents, as they’re turned loose to the streets for some mischief and fun.

(Iwaizumi remembers the last festival, when they’d pranked old man Ukai and made off with some sweets from his store; when they’d challenged Futakuchi and his cohorts in the festival games and lost. Matsukawa had thrown a shoe after them and sworn they’d get revenge.)

The City of Seijoh is alive with color -- with reds and yellows and purples, and dominating them all, the turquoise flags bearing the insignia of the crown, flying in the breeze. In the distance, the blue castle towers above its citizenry. The Crafters’ Quarter has always been crowded and noisy, but this time there’s a lightness to it, an easy joy. Iwaizumi ducks through the back alleys, making for the main courseway that runs around the whole of the upper city level. There’s a rumor that the Fukurodani traders are in town; if he plays his cards right, there could be a free meal or something to sell.

He ducks around a couple of merchants, skips past a book cart, and smacks right into someone in a cloak.

“Ow.” Iwaizumi rubs his nose and scowls at the other person. “Don’t stand in the way!”

The other person shrinks back. Iwaizumi looks at them, and his scowl softens into a slightly perplexed frown. It’s a boy -- about his age, maybe, with tousled brown hair and big eyes. He’s clutching the hood of the cloak around him tightly.

He looks frightened.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi taps him on the arm. The boy startles, and Iwaizumi holds his hands up, trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible.

“Are you lost?” he tries again, tipping his head to the side. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had wandered into the Crafters’ Quarter and lost their way.

The boy bites his lip, hunching up. “I just wanted to see the festival,” he says plaintively.

Iwaizumi exhales sharply in relief; it’s a problem simple enough solved. He holds out a hand with a smile. “I can show you,” he says. “I know this place, easy.”

The other boy hesitates, long enough for someone to bump past him and almost knock his hood off. He clutches at it with a soft cry.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi reaches out, and the boy flinches back. Iwaizumi pauses a moment, then slows his movements. He takes the edges of the hood and carefully pulls the fabric down over soft curls and a terrified expression.

“There,” he says, tugging it one more time to make sure it’s in place. “You’re okay.”

The other boy is looking at him in a mix of awe and relief. He sniffles once, twice, and nods.

“I’m Hajime.” He flashes the other boy a big smile, and sticks out a hand. “What’s your name?”

Wide, confused eyes look from Iwaizumi’s face to the offered palm. Hesitantly, the other boy reaches a hand out and takes Iwaizumi’s, who squeezes their hands together reassuringly. It’s enough to make the other boy smile, the slightest upturn at the corners of his lips.

“Tooru.”

 

(What Iwaizumi doesn’t tell anyone, not even Tooru himself: he knows who Tooru is. Even if he hadn’t seen the small silver tricuspis peeking out from brown curls, very few people were allowed to wear the colors of the royal house, and Tooru’s ratty cloak hadn’t covered everything. But Tooru had come in secret, and Iwaizumi hadn’t been about to betray that.

And it had been fun, to sit under one of the great staircases leading to the upper levels, and eat candied apples, and watch the street performers on their stilts. Their faces had been sticky by the end of it, but Tooru had been breathless from laughing.

They part a little before sunset, and Iwaizumi lets him go lightly.

Tooru waves goodbye with a bright smile.)

 

**2.**

A few months before his nineteenth birthday and Iwaizumi can finally, finally join the royal tournaments. Matsukawa and Hanamaki hadn’t stopped ribbing him for it last year, when he’d been just a few months too young -- royal decree meant you had to be of age by the day of the opening ceremonies. They’ll both be watching this year’s tournaments, and Iwaizumi might even face them in the jousts in a few days.

(He and Hanamaki have a bet on how long Matsukawa will last, actually, but they’re not about to tell him that.)

He’s standing by with the other contenders now, exchanging some jokes and stories while they wait for the tournament to begin, off to the side by the armory tents. They all look up when the horns sound, announcing the arrival of the royal entourage.

King Irihata smiles benevolently at the crowd as he takes his seat under the royal banners. Then the cheers turn into excited squeals and chatter when the crowd sees who’s following. The crown prince is known for many things, including his good looks and easy charm; it makes Oikawa quite popular. He throws the crowds a broad grin and a cheeky wink, and Iwaizumi finds he relates very much when King Irihata exasperatedly -- if fondly -- rolls his eyes.

Oikawa takes his seat at his father’s right side, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with the people around them. He’s far different now from the frightened boy who’d snuck out to see the festival.

The captain of the King’s Guard steps up to announce the beginning of the tournament. Iwaizumi takes up his helmet and his jousting lance, and -- with a last glance at Oikawa -- leaves to take his place with the rest of the contenders.

 

Iwaizumi had grown up the son of a blacksmith, and the godson of the captain of the City Watch. Both these facts mean a childhood spent learning to handle weapons, while a life on the streets meant he’d long learned how to fight. He’s smaller than most contenders, but with quicker reflexes, and his size belies his power.

He wins the first joust easy, and the next, and the next.

He can feel Oikawa watching him.

 

By the end of the day, Iwaizumi’s earned the right to compete against city soldiers in the tournament’s second round. Hanamaki spots him across the feasting hall, and winks. Matsukawa finds him and throws an arm around his shoulder, coming dangerously close to spilling his mead all over his friend.

“You’re not allowed to lose until you face me, you hear," Matsukawa says with a grin. Iwaizumi shoves him good-naturedly, rolling his eyes.

He’s got no intention of losing to anyone.

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t get to face Matsukawa in the tournament’s second round; his friend is eliminated in the third joust of the day, by a quick-witted fighter named Sawauchi. Hanamaki rolls his eyes and tosses a small bag of coins at Iwaizumi, who winks and grins.

Then it’s his turn.

 

He’d been asked, like everyone else, why he was competing. The answers varied -- glory, service, gold. Some have followed legacies, the next in line of generations spent serving in the royal army. Others are trying to win a chance at a better life.

He’d been asked, but Iwaizumi had just shrugged and smiled and said he had his reasons. And one of them is currently sitting in the gallery, watching Iwaizumi take his place at the end of the course and heft his jousting lance into place.

Iwaizumi pointedly doesn’t look his way for the rest of the day.

 

“Fucking _hell--_ ” Hanamaki bites out a curse as he topples from his horse to the dirt, arm thrown out to catch himself. Iwaizumi brings his horse around and smirks down at his friend, lance held aloft.

“I thought getting into the royal guard ahead of me was going to make you better,” he calls down, and Hanamaki shoves the blunted tip of his lance into Iwaizumi’s gut in retaliation. Iwaizumi chokes on a laugh.

Around them, the audience is still cheering. But they fall silent when King Irihata stands and looks at where Iwaizumi sits astride his horse, one of few contenders left.

“You have bested six of my own soldiers in succession,” he says, wry quirk of lips. Iwaizumi turns to him, bowing his head deferentially. King Irihata beckons him over. “Ask, and you shall receive a reward for such worthy efforts.”

Iwaizumi pulls up a few paces from the galley and inclines his head in thanks. “My king’s acknowledgement is all the reward I might need,” he says, but when he looks up, there’s mischief in the corners of his eyes. He can feel Oikawa looking at him.

Iwaizumi straightens and holds his head up. “But if I could ask, I would wear a favor from the crown prince for the remainder of the tournament.” His lips threaten a smile. “Perhaps it might bring me luck.”

King Irihata regards him for a long moment before huffing a small laugh and nodding. “As you wish.”

Iwaizumi takes that as his cue to nudge his horse closer to where Oikawa’s sitting. For the first time since the tournaments had started, he meets Oikawa’s eyes. The prince is looking at him with an expression that’s half a pout and half amusement, and for a moment, Iwaizumi thinks that Oikawa will reject him.

But then Oikawa looks to the side, and there’s a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. He rises from his chair, withdrawing a turquoise kerchief from inside his robes. Iwaizumi watches as he comes to stand at the barrier of the gallery. The tricuspis by his ear glints in the afternoon sun.

When Oikawa tips his head to the side expectantly, Iwaizumi willingly draws closer.

“A reward for a brave fighter,” Oikawa says dryly, reaching out to tie the cloth around Iwaizumi’s upper arm.

“Would my prince bestow me with a kiss as well?” Iwaizumi asks, pinching his lips to suppress a grin, especially as Oikawa deliberately yanks the knot a little too tight.

They stand there a moment longer, quiet, as Oikawa smoothes out the kerchief so the royal insignia is visible for everyone to see. His fingers move carefully, linger just a little too much. When they both look up, there’s something soft at the edges of Oikawa’s expression.

Iwaizumi hadn’t let himself hope that the crown prince would remember the blacksmith’s son who’d shown him around the Festival of Dragons all those summers ago; had simply thought that seeing Oikawa again at the tournament and winning his attention would be enough. But Oikawa _does_ remember, Oikawa recognizes him, and more than a favor on his sleeve or the acknowledgement of the king, it is all the motivation Iwaizumi needs.

He smiles, bows politely. Flicks his gaze up to the crown prince.

“It’s good to see you again, Tooru,” he says, just loud enough for Oikawa to hear, and turns away before he can see Oikawa’s answering expression.

 

Iwaizumi wins his remaining jousts, and it’s enough to earn him a place in the royal guard, just as he’d wanted.

 

When he receives his commission, however, he finds it’s not quite what he’d bargained for.

 

Iwaizumi walks through the castle halls, a little apprehensive despite himself. His new armor and uniform feel clunky, heavy with duty and meaning. He clutches his commission notice tighter and tries not to feel so out of place.

 _This is where you wanted to be,_ he reminds himself, as he reaches the west wing of the palace and the crown prince’s quarters.

There are few guards standing around, to Iwaizumi’s surprise. They let him pass as he approaches, makes his way to the large double doors of the prince’s private library.

Iwaizumi knocks, twice, and -- as he was told -- he enters.

Oikawa is standing in the middle of the room, looking at a book open on the table. He looks up at the sound of Iwaizumi entering, and when he recognizes the person in his doorway, Oikawa smirks.

Iwaizumi fights not to roll his eyes. It just makes Oikawa laugh.

The prince circles the table and comes to a stop just in front of Iwaizumi, who’s surprised to find they’re almost the same height. They look at each other for a long moment, then Oikawa’s expression softens into a genuine smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Hajime.”

 

**3.**

Oikawa is supposed to be at a council meeting, observing as King Irihata takes reports from the governors of the outlying districts. Iwaizumi knows this because he commits Oikawa’s daily schedule to memory every day. It’s part of his duties as the royal guard to the crown prince.

Oikawa is supposed to be at a council meeting, which means he’s _not_ supposed to be peering from around the corner by the council hall and signaling for Iwaizumi to come over.

For his part, Iwaizumi is supposed to be standing guard outside the council hall, waiting for Oikawa to finish his duties, so it takes quite a bit of gesturing on Oikawa’s part (and ignoring his guard’s increasingly pointed glares) for Iwaizumi to take a quick glance around and follow him.

The prince pulls him into the slightly secluded stairway with a pout. “You’re supposed to come when I call you.”

“And _you’re_ supposed to be inside the council hall listening to reports.” Iwaizumi fixes his charge with a frown, one hand on his hip. “What are you doing out here?”

Oikawa shrugs, unrepentant. “It was getting boring. I left.” There’s a glint in his eyes that Iwaizumi doesn’t like, and he likes things even less when Oikawa opens his mouth again. “Come away with me.”

“Pardon?”

It’s confusion more than anything else that lets Oikawa pull Iwaizumi further up the stairs and away from where they’re both supposed to be. Oikawa’s got that look on his face, the one that says he’s going to convince Iwaizumi into doing something reckless again. Last time it had meant playing a prank on the son of the visiting monarch, a strait-laced and solemn boy named Ushijima. Iwaizumi really hopes it’s not as bad this time around.

“Come away with me.” Oikawa stops at the top of the staircase, turns around and gives Iwaizumi an imploring look. “Just for the afternoon. I never go outside, and I’m sick of being stuck here.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips and looks a little to Oikawa’s left. “I could be charged with kidnapping the crown prince, you know.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and takes Iwaizumi’s hand, tugging him off in the direction of the west wing. “Please, when have you ever gotten into trouble because of me.”

 _Plenty of times, actually,_ Iwaizumi thinks, but he knows it’s a lost cause. There’s no stopping Oikawa once he puts his mind to something, and Iwaizumi’s not about to just let him go off on his own.

(Or whatever it is he needs to tell himself.)

 

They sneak out the back ways to the stables, take their horses on the lesser-used paths out of the palace. Once they’re out to the main courseway, it’s easy enough to simply ride to the eastern gate and out of the main city. Oikawa charges ahead on his stallion -- and at least Iwaizumi had managed to convince him to take a different horse, so they wouldn’t be easily recognized -- trusting Iwaizumi to follow.

As if Iwaizumi wouldn’t follow.

They end up on the other side of the lake, a good two hour’s ride away from the castle and all of their duties. Oikawa reins in his horse at some arbitrary spot, dismounting before Iwaizumi can even check if the place is safe.

By the time Iwaizumi has run a brief check of their surroundings and made his way back to where they’d left their horses, he finds Oikawa standing by the shores of the lake. Something about the set of Oikawa’s shoulders, the quiet around him, it’s -- off, somehow. Iwaizumi feels the apprehension coil in his gut, but he stays silent as he makes his way to sit by Oikawa. He’s not in armor -- again in the interest of being less immediately recognizable -- but he still feels… constricted.

Oikawa bends down to pick up one of the stones on the shore, worn down by the water. He’s shucked the brown cloak he’d taken to cover his robe, and it lets Iwaizumi realize all over again how striking a figure Oikawa cuts in full prince regalia.

The image is broken as Oikawa pulls his arm back, throws the stone as far out into the lake as he can. He watches it break the surface of the water, keeps watching long after the ripples have faded.

“I’m frightened,” Oikawa says, apropos of nothing, and something about his smile makes Iwaizumi want to hide him away.

Iwaizumi says nothing, and waits.

Oikawa picks up another stone, idly tosses it up and catches it. He’s still not looking at Iwaizumi.

“I’m frightened,” he says again, and Iwaizumi can tell he’s trying not to let his voice shake. Oikawa’s hand closes over the stone, and he looks up at the sky that’s turning rose and gold above them. “When I go to these meetings, when I watch my father go through his duties, when I realize what it is I’ll have to do in the future -- it frightens me. I realize that I have to be king to these people someday, and it -- I don’t--”

He breaks off in frustration, gritting his teeth. Iwaizumi looks at him, feels the breath stick in his lungs. It’s the most honest he’s ever seen Oikawa, even after all the times Oikawa had returned to his quarters angry or tired or mentally exhausted. The tricuspis by Oikawa’s temple reflects the setting sun, a constant reminder of obligations he can never escape, no matter where he runs to.

Iwaizumi hasn’t asked what it feels like to wear it.

“I don’t know if I’ll be enough,” Oikawa confesses to the lake and the open sky and the person beside him. His voice wavers, just a little.

And Iwaizumi -- looks at him, for a long moment. At this bright and beautiful boy who’s tried so hard, who _tries,_ who beneath the veneer of flirtations and candidness is genuinely good and kind. At a prince whom he has learned is intelligent, and loyal, and brave, and inspiring.

He stands and goes to Oikawa. Black-gloved hands gently cover slender fingers, easing the stone from Oikawa’s grip. It falls to the ground between them as Iwaizumi breaks custom and etiquette to take Oikawa’s hand in his, and meet his gaze.

“You will be,” he says, with all the sincerity he can muster, because this much he believes in: Oikawa is a good man, and he will be a good king. Iwaizumi smiles and leans in, until their foreheads are almost touching, but Oikawa doesn’t look away once.

“Tooru, you will be,” Iwaizumi says again, and means it.

Oikawa breathes, so quietly, and nods.

And there is more that Iwaizumi wants to tell him -- that he won’t be king alone; that that’s what his advisers, his councils are for; hell, that’s what _Iwaizumi_ is here for. That all Oikawa has to do is focus on what’s ahead of him. That to Iwaizumi, Oikawa is and will be an amazing ruler.

But he sets all that aside for now, choosing to pull away with a smile and a wink. Oikawa’s brow furrows as Iwaizumi moves away to strip off his shirt and shoes. He turns back to the perplexed prince with a grin.

“Come on, Your Highness,” he says, laughing when Oikawa’s frown morphs into an outright sulk. “Off with the coat.”

He wrestles it off Oikawa with some difficulty, but it’s worth it to see the expression on Oikawa’s face when Iwaizumi abruptly hauls both of them into the water.

It’s _cold,_ and it gets deep quite quickly, and Oikawa comes up sputtering for breath, sloshing water and muttering about his _stupid guard_ who _does such stupid things_ and _stupid Iwa-chan._ But there’s a pink flush on high cheekbones, and when Iwaizumi ducks underwater to pretend-haul Oikawa down, he gets a foot to the face for his efforts.

Iwaizumi resurfaces to the sight of Oikawa trying to find his footing on the rocky lake bottom and laughing, head thrown back and brown hair plastered all over his forehead. It robs the breath from him, just a little.

It’s in that moment, as Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa -- dripping wet and happy -- and realizes, _ah._

He would follow Oikawa to anywhere, without hesitation; would give everything if Oikawa asked.

Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa and thinks, _I would die for you._

 

The realization doesn’t frighten him in the slightest.

 

They make it back to the castle long, long after sundown, stifling their snickering as they take the back corridors to Oikawa’s chambers. There will be reprimands waiting for them, and they really need to change out of their damp clothes, but for a moment they just stand in Oikawa’s private bedroom and lean against each other, and laugh.

When they’ve regained their composure, it’s Iwaizumi who pulls away first.

“Good night, Your Highness,” he says, giving Oikawa a short and cheeky bow. It earns him a faceful of wet cloak.

“Good _night,_ ” Oikawa snipes, but he’s still smiling even as Iwaizumi leaves.

 

**4.**

Not all of Iwaizumi’s duties revolve around Oikawa, no matter that often it feels that way. When the prince is attending to his responsibilities, or has been summoned by his father, Iwaizumi is usually tasked to join the rest of the royal guard for their duties. Today finds him on patrol with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, out by the south side of the castle. The day is unusually warm, so they’ve shucked the top halves of their armor to take a short break in the shade of the courtyard.

Matsukawa’s in the middle of making them laugh with a story about a recent incident in the dining hall when Oikawa storms out from a nearby doorway. The three of them immediately stand to attention, but Iwaizumi’s the only one who realizes something’s -- off, about the way Oikawa’s walking, about the expression on his face.

“Your Highness,” Hanamaki says, in deference, but Oikawa ignores him entirely.

“Come with me,” he snaps, gesturing to Iwaizumi, and Oikawa may be a prince but Iwaizumi is not going to allow that sort of treatment.

“With all due respect,” he says, meeting Oikawa’s glare head-on, “I have been stationed on patrol duty for the afternoon, as the prince is supposed to be in a council meeting.”

Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa flick their gazes over to him in surprise. Iwaizumi stands, undeterred.

Something dark flashes in Oikawa’s eyes as his glare deepens into a scowl. He looks like decorum is the only thing preventing him from stomping his foot. “You are _my_ royal guard,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, “and you _will_ do as I say.”

But two can play at this game; Iwaizumi can out-stubborn Oikawa if necessary, especially when the prince is being petulant. They’ve engaged in this unstoppable force, immovable object routine more than once. “I am a member of the royal guard, _Your Highness,_ ” he points out scathingly, “and I will stay where I am commanded by my king.”

And that -- that makes Oikawa flinch, and something crosses his expression, too fleeting for Iwaizumi to make out. He exhales, slow and controlled, hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Very well,” he says, and then he turns abruptly. Another moment and he’s gone.

A pointed sort of silence settles over the three friends, only broken when Hanamaki turns to Iwaizumi with a pinched sort of expression. “Should you… go after him?”

Iwaizumi hesitates. He wants to; it’s not often he sees Oikawa like this, irate and almost -- distressed. But Iwaizumi also knows better, knows his station. This small confrontation in the courtyard was already dangerous, a display of far too much familiarity than should be allowed between a guard and a crown prince. To go after Oikawa -- it should not be Iwaizumi’s place.

(He tries not to think, then, of how much Oikawa has already gotten under his skin, of how Oikawa has already long gotten Iwaizumi to dispense with the facade of duty and status. He tries not to think of how Oikawa has drawn him in so viscerally, so that even now Iwaizumi feels the compulsion to follow.

He tries not to think of the hurt that had hidden behind Oikawa’s fury, and turns his back to the doorway.)

 

When Iwaizumi returns to Oikawa’s bedroom after his patrol, he finds the prince isn’t there.

That in itself is not an unusual occurrence; the prince could be anywhere in his quarters, or in the common areas. But a brief search of Oikawa’s rooms turns up nothing, and the council hall and receiving rooms come up empty. Concerned now, Iwaizumi makes a circuit of the castle, although if Oikawa were really trying to hide from him--

He finds Oikawa in the north tower, above the royal library. It’s a small room, at the highest point of the castle; few people come by this place. But Oikawa likes it up here, likes looking at the night sky and teaching Iwaizumi the constellations, sometimes talking all the way to the dawn.

When Iwaizumi gets there, however, he finds Oikawa seated on the low bench that runs around the perimeter of the balcony. He has his arms folded over the ledge, cheek leaning by one elbow. His hair falls over his brow, obscuring part of his expression, but his gaze is far away.

Like this, devoid of the regal pomp and circumstance, Oikawa looks so -- young.

Iwaizumi exhales a sigh, runs a hand through his hair, suddenly sheepish. “Oikawa?”

The prince doesn’t stir. Iwaizumi purses his lips, and steps a little closer. “Tooru.”

That seems to bring Oikawa out of his daze; he blinks, as if coming out of sleep, and looks up at Iwaizumi. The guilt in Iwaizumi’s chest deepens when he realizes Oikawa’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale. He’s taken the tricuspis off.

“Hajime,” he says, so quietly, and something in his voice cracks.

Iwaizumi is by him in a heartbeat.

“I’m here,” he says, kneeling at the prince’s feet.

In quiet words and hesitations, Oikawa tells him -- about how King Irihata has fallen ill, about how the healers have confessed the man may not have much time. Oikawa’s voice shakes as he tells Iwaizumi about how the talk had so swiftly turned to Oikawa’s impending coronation, because when Irihata dies it is Oikawa who will be named king.

“I’m frightened,” he says, in that same small voice as he’d had by the lake, and his hands are shaking. Oikawa is frightened, and uncertain, and too young, and -- “I’m not -- I’m not ready.”

He looks at Iwaizumi then, with wide, terrified eyes, and his heart in his throat. And Iwaizumi thinks, _to hell with duty_ ; he rises up on his knees, reaches out and cradles Oikawa’s face in his hands.

“I know it’s terrifying,” he says, so softly, as his thumbs press into Oikawa’s cheeks and try to brush the tears away. “I know, Tooru, but you -- you will be a good king, I know it, because you are a _good man._ Your people will follow. They love you,” _and I love you,_ he doesn’t say, but it’s there in the touch of his fingers and the way he looks at Oikawa now, making himself the steadiness that Oikawa can rely on. “You will move forward without hesitation, and your people will follow.”

Oikawa bites his lip, tips his cheek into Iwaizumi’s palm. Iwaizumi leans up as he pulls Oikawa down, touches their foreheads together. He doesn’t know what compels him to keep talking, but he has to tell Oikawa, has to make sure he knows -- “I swore an oath, when I became your guard and your soldier, Oikawa Tooru, I swore I would follow you to wherever you lead, that I would be beside you in everything you needed, and I will. In all this, and in all that is to come, I will.”

At that, Oikawa crumples against him, but Iwaizumi opens his arms easily and lets Oikawa bury his face in Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He sits there and lets him cry, even as his shirt becomes damp, as he loses the feeling in his legs.

He sits there and holds the grief-stricken, shaking boy in his arms, until Oikawa falls asleep.

 

**5.**

The day of the coronation is chaotic. The castle is full of people running around, all the last-minute preparations and the arrivals and the protocols. Oikawa still, somehow, manages to sleep in.

Iwaizumi wakes him up unsympathetically with a pillow to the face.

“Don’t be the first king late to his own coronation,” he says flatly, and never mind that Oikawa’s scowling up at him. (It doesn’t hold much weight, anyway, not when Oikawa’s hair is sticking up everywhere and he has creases all down one cheek.)

The morning is spent fretting all over the place, over his clothes and his appearance and all the things Oikawa has to do for the ceremony. He puts his gloves on the wrong hands, and nearly spills water all over his best cloak.

Iwaizumi makes the executive decision to take the tricuspis himself, else Oikawa might stab himself with it somehow.

“Here,” he says, exasperated and fond. He holds Oikawa still, then reaches up to slide the thin silver ornaments over Oikawa’s ear -- two, this time, now that he’s to be king. He steps back, gives Oikawa a pointed once-over.

Oikawa frowns at him self-consciously, fiddles with a sleeve.

Iwaizumi smirks. “You look _fine,_ Your Majesty,” he says, swatting at Oikawa’s hand. He does, though; with the way he carries himself, with his features, royal garb has always suited Oikawa.

They make their way down to the small receiving room by the main hall, taking the back corridors, as they always do. Even through the thick castle walls, the chatter and clamor of the dozens of people bleeds through. Oikawa eyes the door nervously, fidgeting in place.

“Your Majesty.” One of the attendants peers into the room, gesturing for Oikawa. “It is time.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Iwaizumi reaches out, places a hand firmly on the small of Oikawa’s back.

When Oikawa turns to look at him, he’s smiling.

“Go, Tooru,” he says, softly.

Oikawa holds his gaze for a long moment, then nods.

When he leaves the room, he doesn’t look back.

 

Iwaizumi stands at attention and watches as the maester lowers the silver crown on Oikawa’s brow. Watches as Oikawa rises to his feet, sword held firmly on his grip. Iwaizumi looks at him and thinks Oikawa has never looked so regal, or so powerful.

Iwaizumi knows, without question, that Oikawa will rule well. That this here is a king that his people can take pride in.

As Oikawa rises, so does the congregation. But over the crowd of people, Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s eyes, and he’s smiling.

Iwaizumi holds his gaze, unflinching.

The maester holds his hands out, and declares, in a loud voice:

“Long live the Dragon King, Oikawa Tooru.”

 

**6.**

The bedroom is quiet, blanketed in the hush of the night. Outside, the stars fall scattered across the sky, a hundred brilliant constellations. Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s trembling hands and kisses them, presses an open mouth to a soft palm and breathes him in.

There are no wedding ceremonies for soldiers and princes, but it does not matter. The vows they give to each other hold stronger than any proclamation from maesters and priests.

Oikawa takes the silver cord in hand, ties it around Iwaizumi’s wrist with sure and steady fingers. He speaks softly.

“You are mine, as I am yours,” and here he meets Iwaizumi’s eyes with a lifetime’s worth of something immeasurable. “And I am by your side as long as we both shall live, and until the stars crumble from the sky. As you have sworn your life to me, Iwaizumi Hajime, so I swear my heart to you, if you would have it.”

He says the last words almost shyly, as impossible as it seems. Iwaizumi has taken him to bed, but Oikawa still blushes when they're being romantic.

Iwaizumi loves it about him, just as he loves everything.

He takes the other end of the cord, ties it around Oikawa’s wrist, and here now with only their gods watching, they are bound to each other. Iwaizumi holds Oikawa’s gaze, steadfast and warm.

“You are mine, as I am yours,” and Iwaizumi has always found Oikawa beautiful but here, in their bed, when Oikawa is simply himself down to his bones -- he’s the most breathtaking thing Iwaizumi has ever seen. He is Iwaizumi’s, and no one else’s. “And I follow you as long as we both shall live, and until this earth is no longer. As you have sworn your heart to me, Oikawa Tooru, so I swear everything of myself, up to the last of my life.”

 

There are no wedding ceremonies for soldiers and princes, but it does not matter. Here, where Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa in for a kiss, deep and full of promise and devotion -- here, the cord that ties them together and the vows they have said are more than enough.

_You are mine, as I am yours._

Oikawa is, and Iwaizumi is, and it is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! Come find me on social media; I'm [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) on Twitter and [plstskys](https://plstskys.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. You can check there for more updates on upcoming projects, as well as ways to support my writing ^__^


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